


A Night in Neibolt

by leighwrites



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: All that nice stuff, Blood, Gore, M/M, Murder AU, Torture, lots of death, serial killer losers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-01 04:09:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16277519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighwrites/pseuds/leighwrites
Summary: You can only push people so far before they snap.





	1. Undo These chains my friend

****The events that took part in the Neibolt House on Halloween of 2017 took the lives of no less than seven people. If you’d asked anyone who had attended the mysterious party on that night if they’d realised what was going on, they would have all answered with a _no_. They had assumed it was some elaborate prank made by Henry and his friends.

But it was very real.

It started when they were children. They were the kind of children who rubbed someone’s face in snow until it bled because they were a different religion or murdered someone’s dog just because the owner was both black and smarter than they were. They were the kind of kids who made fun of a speech impediment the owner couldn’t control, or a girl who seemingly had no friends, or a boy who was on a lot of medication, or even a boy who had not yet fully grown into his teeth or was larger than the average person of the school.

This kind of bullying does _not_ go away so easily. In fact this kind did _not_ go away even when they were seventeen. By then, the victims of said bullying had banded together in a group of seven; six boys and one girl.

But still the bullying did not stop.

“I fucking hate them.” Beverly’s voice drifted from Richie’s bathroom, muffled by the shirt she was attempting to remove. “I never did anything to those bitches and,” she paused, tossing her sopping wet shirt onto the floor, “god that smells gross. Thanks again for letting me use your shower. I can’t go home like this or my mom will freak.”

“No problem, Bev.” Richie assured her, tossing some clothes into the bathroom. “Just throw your clothes out so I can toss them into the washer.”

“Really, Richie? You’re gonna go and clean _all_ my clothes?” Beverly joked, and he could tell without being in the room that she was winking.

“Literally seen you cliff dive in nothing but your underwear. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Beverly gathered her clothes into a ball and leaned carefully around the bathroom door to hand them to Richie. He’d been more than surprised when Beverly had shown up at his door, sopping wet and smelling completely _gross_. She’d hurriedly explained to him that she’d been having a smoke in the bathroom at the end of the school day when Greta and her friend Marcia had filled a trash bag with water and dumped it into the stall where she’d been sitting.

And now that Richie thought about it, there had _definitely_ been an increase in Greta targeting Beverly, and she wasn’t the only one. Three days ago Eddie had shown up on his doorstep terrified because Henry had convinced his friend Moose to dress up as the most disgusting leper he possibly could and scare the hell out of Eddie by crawling out from under the porch of the abandoned house on Neibolt street. At the time, Eddie hadn’t known it was Moose, but by lunchtime the next day a recording that Henry had taken of the event had circled the school; publicly humiliating the boy they’d terrified.

The week _before_ , Henry had overheard their group talking about the painting that Stan’s dad had in his office at the Synagogue. The painting freaked Stan out to the point he hated going into the office even for a second and Henry had took advantage of that, once again getting one his friends to dress up (this time Vic) and stand outside of Stan’s house at night to scare him.

“Where’s your halloween spirit, fuckers?” Henry had asked one day at school after one of them had hidden in the school boiler room as a werewolf to target Richie.

“We could just kill them.” Richie jokingly suggested one saturday afternoon in his bedroom after Bill had told them that one of them (he wasn’t sure which) had dressed up one rainy day in yellow raincoat with a bloodied missing arm and the hood pulled up their head and lurked around outside Bill’s house. He was sprawled across his bed, Eddie curled up into his side with a lollipop sticking out of his mouth while the rest of his friends were scattered around his room. “No one would miss them.”

“Yeah right, lets just murder seven people.” Beverly laughed from her place at the foot of the bed where Richie’s legs were draped over her lap, her laugh echoing through the room. She had one arm hanging over the end of the bed, her fingers stroking soothingly through Bill’s hair to calm him.

Though Richie had joined in her laughter, disturbing Eddie who sat up with a scowl that was less than intimidating with the stick hanging from his mouth, Beverly noticed the others hadn’t. Stan, who was contentedly curled up in Mike’s lap on the floor where he’d been dozing was suddenly wide awake and sharing a look with Bill.

“Whu-why don’t we?” Bill asked.

There was a moment of silence before Richie burst out into a fit of laughter. “Come _on_ Bill. You’re talking about killing seven people. There’s no way you can do that and _not_ get caught.”

“We could if… if we stuh-huck together as a group. We just have to plan everything beforehand. Date, location, anything that could get us caught… cover stories. We’d just have to plan it all out.”

“You’re _serious_ about this aren’t you?” Richie asked, sensing the change in tone from Bill. He sat upright on the bed, a thoughtful look on his face. “A number of things can go wrong. There could be a trail - _anything._ ”

“But that’s what we have you for. You’re the smartest person in our grade. If anyone can figure it all out, you can. Especially so there’s no trail.”

“Oh great. No pressure then.”

“This is what you get for being our resident internet creeper.” Eddie grinned, shifting the lollipop to the side of his mouth.

“You make that sound way worse than it is.” Richie grumbled, plucking the lollipop from Eddie’s mouth and popping it into his own. “So are we _actually_ doing this? Because… you know… I know people who can help out.”

“Of course you do.” Stan shot, burying his face back into Mike’s neck, tilting his head ever so slightly when Mike ran his hand through his hair.

“That’s perfect. Cah-can you get touh-uch with them?” Bill asked, his attention settling on Richie who gave an affirmative nod.

“That’s so gross.” Eddie said, almost absently as Richie twisted the lollipop to the side of his mouth. “That thing is _covered_ in my saliva.”

Richie snorted, reaching up and ruffling Eddie’s hair. “I’ve had worse things in my mouth than your saliva, Eds.”

“Wait a second, hold on,” Ben spoke up suddenly, reminding the others around him that he was actually present in the room, “are you guys fucking serious?” No one answered, avoiding making eye contact with him. “Are we _seriously_ talking about killing people? Like… actually murdering real, _living_ people?”

“Ben, just think about it for a moment.” Beverly leaned over Bill, reaching out and placing a hand softly onto his shoulder. “They’ve done nothing but torment us for _years._ They rubbed Stan’s face in snow and ice until it _bled_ ,” Stan flinched, and Beverly continued, “and they tried to cut you open. Wouldn’t you like to cut _them_ open?”

Ben said nothing, falling silent and staring down at his lap. How could they be so relaxed right now while they were talking about _murdering_ people?

“My dad always took matters into his own hands.” Mike spoke, voice soothing and yet firm at the same time. “I think that… it’s time _we_ took matters into our own.”

The next few weeks consisted of their planning; a Halloween party at the abandoned house on the corner of Neibolt street to lure their seven victims to them. Stan planned out and obtained all of their costumes to avoid being recognized and Richie had sent out untraceable invites from one of the computers at the public library from a disposable e-mail account that he deactivated the moment he was done.

“So we just… burn these after?” Beverly asked, tugging on a pair of gloves before grabbing the plastic Jason Voorhees Mask from the box in front of her. “What about the weapons?”

“They go back to their owners.” Richie said, hopping around the rocky terrain of the quarry as he tried to drag a pair of latex pants up. “Really Stan? You couldn’t just get an official Jack Skellington costume? It had to be a gimp suit?”

Stan snorted, tugging on a pair of torn and bloodied pants for his zombie costume. “Call it payback for the sexy cat costume you made me wear to Mike’s last year.”

“It got you laid didn’t it?” Richie shot, losing his balance and toppling to the ground.

“That’s not the point.”

“That absolutely _was_ the point of me putting you in that costume.” Richie retorted, clambering to his feet. “If anything you’re in debt to me and shouldn’t be making me dress in _latex_.”

“It’s _one_ night, Richie, stop bitching.” Eddie shot from across the quarry where he was dumping his clothes into a plastic bag, already outfitted in most of his ninja costume with a very _real_ small katana strapped to his lower back. “At least your costume is easy to breathe in.”

“Yeah? Maybe you need to give my dick that message.” Richie grumbled. “Did you just get this a size too small or something? This costume does _not_ leave much to the imagination.”

Stan opted for ignoring him, focusing on tucking all of his hair into the black wig he’d pulled onto his head. “So should I ask where you got these weapons from? Like we’re not about to frame someone innocent for murder are we?”

“Would you relax?” Richie tugged on a pair of latex gloves, flexing his fingers. “Christ I feel like some kind of a fucking bondage model. Anyway, the weapons belong to a friend of mine.”

Eddie opened his mouth, pausing for a moment. “Is this one of those unsavoury friends of yours from the deepest reaches of the internet?”

“Something like that.”

“I don’t need to know anything else.”

Beverly tucked a machete into her belt. “Is it A?”

Richie stretched, the latex costume making a horrible noise as he did. “E, mostly.”

“So they just _mailed_ you weapons?” Mike asked, pulling on the mask for his Mike Myers costume.

“Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, I can’t tell you that.”

Bill snorted, pulling on the gloves for his clown costume. “Is there anything you _can_ tell us?”

“Nope. Not yet. How you doing over there Ben?”

“How the hell am I supposed to _move_ in this?” Ben asked, waving a hand at the plague doctor costume he was wearing, the mask slightly askew on his head.

Beverly giggled, skipping around him to straighten the mask. “You don’t. You just have to serve our special drinks. We’ll do the actual murder.”

“Speaking of,” Stan paused, looking down at his watch, “our guests should be arriving in an hour. We should get moving so we’re already there.”

Richie nodded, taking out a small black flip phone from his pocket and opening it. There was one single message in the inbox and he opened it quickly to check it.

**A [19:00]: in position. remember my terms - a**

**R [19:04]: Got it. After the party. I’ll dead ring.**

**A [19:10]: delete these. remember to destroy the phone later - a**

Heaving a sigh, Richie deleted the messages quickly and snapped the phone shut before tucking it back into his pocket.


	2. I'll show you the rage I feel

Though the party had only started at eight, it was in full swing by eight thirty. Almost every teenager in town had shown up, which was exactly what they’d wanted. The more people there were, the longer it would take their victims to notice there was something wrong. 

There had been just enough time before the party had started for Richie to vaguely introduce the rest of the losers to the three people who were helping them. There was A, dressed in a grim reaper costume and standing on the porch next to the door. It was A’s job to make sure that their targets didn’t leave. Anyone else was free to go whenever they wanted, but not them. A would keep them there by force if they had to. A had nodded in greeting when they passed, raising a hand in a half-assed wave.

Then there was E, dressed in some homemade sexy Nacho Libre costume and sorting through some CDs at one end of the spacious living room where she would be acting as DJ. She didn’t speak to them, only giving a nod in greeting much like A had done. Finally there was L; outfitted in a jester costume with a venetian plague mask over her face. L, like Ben, was in charge of the drinks at their makeshift bar. She  _ did  _ speak unlike her friends, and Ben found her voice oddly calming. Ben had wanted to ask about the letters, but when L had called Richie  _ R _ and nothing else it became clear to him that it was to avoid the use of real names.

Over the next hour, Ben tried to ignore the way that L looked at him. Sure, her voice was calm and soothing, but the way she looked at him made him feel uneasy. It was as though she were sizing him up for something; or maybe that was just the way she looked at people. She was professional killer from what Richie had told them. All three of them were.

As nine o’clock neared, Ben could see the familiar Jack Skellington mask as it bounced its way through the crowd. The rest of them had been blending in, never speaking but raising their glasses or bottles in acknowledgement whenever someone said hi. Richie stopped at the bar, signalling to L over the music for something. L grabbed three bottles of beer and a bottle of cider from one of the coolers and motioned to Ben that she would return, stepping around the bar and following Richie through the crowd.

Richie took one of the beers from her, guiding her with an arm slung around her shoulder through the mass of people dancing and generally talking until they were outside on the front porch where Mike and Stan were waiting for them. L handed the bottle of cider to A who took it with a grateful nod, heading down the steps to drink privately.

“I thought you’d wait longer than an hour.” L admitted, handing a bottle to Stan and one to Mike. “They’re barely even drunk yet.”

“Don’t need them to be drunk, L.” Richie said, pushing his mask up and twisting the cap off the bottle.

“Pocket that.” L said. “The bottles can be taken care of by us but pocket the cap. You remember the plan Bill made for this?”

Richie pocketed the cap and took a quick sip of the beer. “Yeah. Stan’s gonna show himself enough that Henry can see he’s here, and then  _ you’re _ gonna take Stan upstairs and Henry is gonna send someone to follow you because he won’t want to leave the party.” 

“That’s right.” L reached towards the back of her costume, lifting the shirt and removing the pistol tucked into her shorts. She ejected the magazine, checked the bullets inside, and then snapped it back into place before handing the gun over to Stan. “You have two bullets. Make them count. What else, R?”

“Mike will lead Greta upstairs into a different room for Beverly and E will be with her.”

“Good. You remembered. You can’t afford to fuck this up.”

“I  _ know _ , L.” Richie hissed, taking another swig of his beer. “When do we pay you for this anyway?”

L’s attention settled on him in a flat stare. “Pay me? You don’t. You pay A.”

“But aren’t you the one who-”

“You. Pay. A.” L repeated slowly. “We should head back in. You want Henry to still be sober when he sees Stan so he’s  _ sure  _ of what he’s seeing right?”

Richie nodded, sliding his mask back down. “I’ll come find you when I need your special tool.”

L gave him a mock salute and Stan removed his wig, the two of them stepping back into the house. Mike and Richie lingered back, counting to thirty before heading back inside. L was standing in the doorway to the living room, leaning against the frame lazily as she conversed with Stan. Richie didn’t pay attention to what they were talking about, simply squeezing by them and giving Stan a reassuring nudge in the arm with his elbow.

Once he was back at the bar area where Eddie was now helping Ben with the drinks, he chanced a look back at the doorway to see that L and Stan were no longer there, but there was a Leper jogging up the staircase. He accepted a fresh bottle of beer from Eddie, taking a moment to squeeze his hand before he vanished back into the throng of people to find his own target.

Vic reached the top of the staircase, turning in time to see the bedroom door at the end of the hallway close behind Stan, followed by a feminine laugh, and Vic made his way towards the room. Just as they had suspected, Henry hadn’t wanted to leave the buzz of the party, wanting to be in the centre of attention, and as a result, he’d sent Vic to take care of Stan in his place; to ‘toss the loser out of the party and publicly humiliate him.’

Opening the door to the room he’d seen Stan go into with determination, Vic was surprised to find no sign of Stan in the immediate area.  _ Alright, just where is that faggot Kike hiding? _ Vic wondered, stepping full into the room to get a better look. There door suddenly slammed shut behind him, plunging the room completely into darkness. There was a tense moment before the light suddenly turned on, blinding him momentarily.

When he was able to see again, he found Stan leaning against the wall next to a dirtied mattress on the far side of the room and one quick glance over his shoulder revealed L who was propped up against the door; one arm outstretched with her gloved fingers drumming against the lightswitch.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Vic looked visibly alarmed, but he managed to keep his tone steady.

Vic finally registered that Stan was holding a gun to his side, fingers drumming against the metal almost absent mindedly. “This? This is your worst nightmare, asshole.”

As Stan raised the gun, Vic turned, grabbing L by the front of her shirt and throwing her to one side. L stumbled, but otherwise managed to keep herself on her feet; something that  _ visibly  _ bothered Vic. No one had ever held their ground like that to him or his friends. They were afraid of them.

L wasn’t. She raised a hand, holding up two fingers and a shot echoed through the room, barely noticeable over the sound of the music that pulsed through the house as a result of E who had turned the volume up the second she’d seen Stan and L heading up the stairs. Vic let out a scream, his leg buckling from under him as a result of the bullet that had hit the back of his knee. 

“He was gonna make it nice and quick for you, you know.” L said, her tone calm as she reached out and grabbed Vic by the hair. “But you just had to try and run, didn’t you?” She dragged him across the room as he attempted to pry her fingers from his hair but she held strong, leaving a trail of blood behind them until they were in the middle of the room.

L tossed him haphazardly onto the wooden floor. Stan made no movements while she reached into her pocket for a phone, pointing it down at Vic as she walked backwards to the door, reaching for the handle and opening it. The loud thrum of the music from downstairs reached them, vibrating through the hallway as L stood by the door.

“If you want to leave, you can. All you have to do is crawl through the door. Fight for your freedom like every kid you bullied.” L side stepped from the door, keeping the phone trained on him.

Very visibly in pain and clutching his leg, Vic was forced to use only one arm to drag himself across the ground; leaving a second trail of blood in his wake. L remained at the side of the room, her grip on the phone never wavering. It was slow and agonizing, and Vic forced himself to keep going, the fear that they might actually kill him ringing clear in his head whenever he thought about stopping.

Gripping the door frame with one hand when he finally reached the door, Vic panted heavily in an attempt to catch his breath. All he had to do was pull himself through the door and he was free. First he just needed to rest a moment. L was suddenly next to him, crouched with the phone still pointed at him. 

“Oh dear, you just can’t seem to make the last few inches, can you? I’ve given you long enough.” L climbed to her feet quickly and kicked the door which slammed against Vic’s hand and drew out another scream. 

Vic withdrew his now broken hand from the door frame and clutched it to his chest. L turned, pressing herself against the door and shutting him inside the room with them again. It was in that dreadful moment that Vic realised she never intended to let him go.

That thought was confirmed when he saw her mouth move into a smile as she crouched, keeping the phone level with him the entire time. “Silly boy. No one ever escapes from  _ the circle _ .” She reached out, grabbing at his knee and squeezing hard enough to draw a third scream from him. “I think it’s time you granted him mercy, S.”

Stan didn’t speak, crossing the room with the gun held tightly in his hand. L grabbed at Vic’s chin, smearing blood on his skin as she rubbed her thumb against his jaw. “I want you to listen to me  _ Victor _ . That’s right. I know you. I know your name, your parent’s names, where you live, and what you’ve done.” She twisted his head quickly so he was looking up at Stan. “I know what you did to this boy. I know what your friends have done to them all, and you’re just the start.”

L slipped her thumb into his mouth, prying it open wide enough for Stan to slip the barrel of the gun into his mouth. Vic made a hasty attempt to pull back but L’s hand was suddenly gripping his throat and jaw in a surprisingly strong grip to keep him in place.

The last thing Victor Criss saw that night was the blank expression on Stan’s face as he pulled the trigger. L tapped her phone screen to end the recording, tucking it back into her pocket as she stood, staring down at the mass of blood, skull fragments, and brain matter on the ground.

“Clean up crew is gonna hate this one. How’d it feel?”

Stan didn’t answer for a moment, slowly removing the gun from Vic’s mouth. He stared at the dead boy under them, drawing in a sharp breath. “Good. Really good.”

Greta Bowie had never imagined that someone would want to kill her. As far as she was concerned, everyone loved her. She was the Queen Bee. Girls wanted to be her friend, and all the boys wanted her. At least, that’s how  _ she  _ saw it. She had never imagined that the mysterious boy in the Michael Myers costume would be her downfall when he’d taken her upstairs to one of the bedrooms.

The buzz of the alcohol had long settled into her brain, and Greta was vaguely aware of her back hitting one of the old dusty beds and the boy holding a hand up to tell her to wait right where she was. Mike pulled a strip of cloth from his pocket, smoothing it out for a more than willing Greta to put on.

The boy wanted to keep his anonymity and that was more than fine with Greta who  _ didn’t  _ want to see the person she was spending the night with. Once the blindfold was in place, Mike slowly stood from the bed and headed from the room, leaving the door open ajar and knocking on another as he headed back towards the stairs.

If Greta had not been so intoxicated and blindfolded she would have realised that he’d left and that two people had returned in his place. E loaded up the camera on her phone and pointed it at the bed, stepping closer to make sure that Greta was fully on display. Beverly approached the side of the bed and sat down with her back to the camera, staring down at the girl who had made the majority of her life hell.

Greta had tortured her for years. She ambushed her in school bathrooms, shoved her head in toilets, and constantly asked her which of her friends she was fucking.

_ “Tell me Beaverly, is that how you shut the Trashmouth up? Do you just shove his head between your legs like the whore you are? Or maybe Bill’s the one you do that with. Does that stuttering feel  _ **_good_ ** _?” _

Beverly could feel the anger gripping at her chest. Greta constantly insulted her friends in passing while simultaneously calling her their whore. Her mind was made up. She was doing this. Reaching up, Beverly removed her mask and placed into onto the bed.  Greta made some incoherent noise; an attempt to speak to what she had figured would be her party hook up.

Beverly remained silent, lifting Greta enough to pull the pillow out from under her before she lowered her back to the bed and gripped the pillow with both hands. She leaned down, placing her mouth directly next to Greta’s ear, letting out a soft laugh.

“It’s funny that you always called me a whore, but yet here you are on your back waiting for one of  _ my  _ friends to come back and fuck you.”

Greta registered the voice too late in her drunken haze, barely managing a shout of Beverly’s name before the pillow was slammed down onto her face. Beverly straddled Greta into place, using her arms to pin her murder device tightly against Greta’s face. Greta started to scream and kick out, hoping that someone would hear her and come running but the loud music drifting up from the living room told her all she needed to know.

No one would hear her. No one would be coming to help her.

Greta Bowie died in a filthy bedroom in a house that had been abandoned for well over fifty years; murdered by an equally filthy moth-eaten pillow and dressed like a playboy bunny while E had recorded the whole thing on her phone.

“Why the recording?” Beverly asked, standing upright and dropping the pillow to the floor once she was certain that E had stopped recording.

E let out a laugh; soft and almost musical as she tucked her phone back into her pocket. “People pay good money for a good snuff movie, Bev. That’s kind of what we do. We record the murders and sell them. It feels good to get your revenge, doesn’t it?”

Beverly looked back to the bed. Greta’s eyes were wide open but there was no movement, not even the slightest rise and fall of her chest. She reached out for her mask, pulling it back over her head. “Yeah, it does. Did you first one feel this good?”

“I’m just an observer. I give out the tools and the tips. L’s the one you should ask that to. She’s the one with the redroom.”


	3. I won’t forget the way you made me feel

**** Marcia had been in a panic ever since she’d seen Greta vanish into the throng of people with the mysterious stranger. She’d seen him come back down some time ago, but there was no sign of Greta anywhere. She pushed through the crowds of people, asking if anyone had seen her friend. 

Some people had laughed at her, figuring it to be some kind of prank that they’d set up with Henry who had been playing his insensitive pranks and god only knew what on people all month. Others had shrugged as though they had no idea who Greta was, and the rest who seemed visibly concerned had shaken their heads and said they hadn’t seen her since she’d vanished upstairs.

She passed the DJ station where the jestery bartender was now in control of the music and found the person in the Jack Skellington costume she’d been spending most of the party dancing with at the bar, getting another drink from the plague doctor behind it. 

“Hey, can you help me find my friend? I can’t find her anywhere.” 

Richie nodded and held out his arm to her, allowing Marcia to link them before they made their way through the crowd to find Greta.

Meanwhile, Henry had sent Patrick to find Vic. Since he hadn’t returned yet, Henry had assumed that, for some ungodly reason, Vic either hadn’t been able to find Stan or was having some trouble trying to get him out of the house. Patrick took the steps three at a time until he was standing in the upstairs hallway where he took a brief look around. All of the doors were closed except for one that was halfway open, and that’s where he figured Vic and Stan would be.

“Vic?” Patrick called, pushing the door open further and stepping into the barely lit room. “You in here?” His foot connected with something on the ground and he fell, slamming into the wood floor with a thud.

He looked around, squinting in the dark for what had tripped him. 

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Vic who had been moved to the middle of the room and tossed carelessly onto the ground in a pool of blood. Patrick looked up in time to see Stan standing in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob as he pulled it towards him. Patrick scrambled to his feet, jumped over the unmoving Vic, and grabbed the handle as a click sounded; signalling that Stan had locked him inside.

“You little shit.” Patrick shouted, slamming his hand against the wooden door. “You wait until I get out of here you faggot kike. You and your friends are  _ dead _ .”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” An unfamiliar voice called out as a lamp turned on. Patrick turned to the direction of the discarded mattress where person he’d seen on the porch dressed like a grim reaper was sitting. “It’s you and  _ your  _ friends that are dead.”

“Who the fuck are  _ you _ ?” Patrick demanded, stepping over Vic and motioning to him. “Did you do this?”

“You don’t need to learn my name. You won’t live long enough to remember it. You can just call me A.” A reached down the side of the mattress for a small bag, dropping it onto the bed and unzipping it.

“What? You think I’m fucking scared of  _ you _ ?  _ Me _ ?”

“Oh, I know you’re not, Patrick.” A let out a laugh, dropping a smaller bag onto the bed and untying the string from it. “After all, you’ve killed people. Animals too.” She unrolled the bag, displaying an array of tools. “But I’m not your concern. I’m merely an observer.” Removing a scalpel from the bag, she pointed it in the direction of the closet. “ _ He’s  _ your concern.”

Patrick turned, following her point to the closet, expecting to see someone he actually found  _ remotely  _ intimating, and not the stuttering mess known as  _ Bill Denbrough  _ standing in the doorway.

“Really girl? You think  _ Bill  _ is a concern of mine? All you’ve done is present me with the chance to take  _ another  _ Denbroughs out.”

“ _ I knew it. _ ” The usual waver and stutter in Bill’s voice was absent, his stare hard. “I knew it was  _ you _ and no one believed it. You’re the only one who was capable enough to do it.”

“L, now!” A ordered.

Patrick hadn’t registered the words until it was too late. Someone had jumped onto his back, wrapping their legs tightly around his waist and one arm around his neck. He struggled for a moment, stumbling under the weight and wrapping a hand around the arm that was trying to choke him. His attacker didn’t relent, tightening their grip; and from his peripheral vision he could see the familiar venetian plague mask.

It was enough to distract him, registering that this was the woman who had been laughing with him at the makeshift bar while getting the drinks for him and his friends. “Oh you are  _ so  _ dead, bitch.”

There was a wry laugh from the woman who was practically clinging to him like a koala. He tried to detach her from his person once more while she fiddled with something he couldn’t see, and there was a sudden sharp prick in his neck. He could feel his movements becoming sluggish, darkness consuming his world moments before his body collapsed under whatever she’d injected into him and her sudden increased weight.

L dropped the syringe that had been full of some kind of tranquilizer onto the floor, panting heavily. There was a soft laugh from A despite the serious moment, an amused edge to her voice as she spoke. “You jumped too hard and winded yourself, didn’t you?”

L said nothing, extending a single middle finger in A’s direction. 

“I just don’t know where she could have possibly gone.” Marcia said, looking around the empty basement. 

Marcia had no idea  _ why  _ she bothered to talk to her companion. He never responded with anything more than a shrug or a fleeting look around them. His company was enough for her though. The Neibolt house was practically falling apart and had been for years and it was comforting to know she wasn’t exploring the dark and possibly dangerous areas of the house alone.

At least, it was until her companion wrapped an arm around her neck and pulled her back. She thrashed out with a scream, her elbow slamming into Richie’s stomach. RIchie grunted, rubbing at his stomach while Marcia began to clamber up the wooden staircase towards the door. She grabbed the knob with one hand and twisted but the door didn’t budge. The panic set in and she banged her fists against the door. 

“Someone let me out!” 

Her only response was the loud thumping music. Richie stumbled up the staircase, dangling the key to her freedom in his hand. She turned sharply, planting her back against the door and kicked out once he was close enough, hitting him in the stomach. Richie lost his balance, the stairs slipping away as he lost his footing and tumbled backwards; loud thuds echoing in the basement as he hit each step on the way down.

Marcia exhaled shakily and made her way down the staircase, squinting in dim lighting to look for the key. She found it only a few steps from the bottom, bending to grab it quickly while she stared at her possibly unconscious attacker. Had they done this to Greta too? Marcia wasn’t sure, but a part of her was convinced they had, and all she needed to do was unmask them, find out who they were and report them to the police.

The other side of her reasoned she needed to get the hell out of the basement, lock them inside and  _ then  _ report them. It outweighed her desire to know who they were. It was the best call, and that’s what she was going to do.

She’d made it four steps up when a hand shot out from under them and grabbed her ankle, giving a rough yank that sent her falling much like she’d done to Richie. Her body thumped against his, a wave of dizziness taking over. She barely registered the person who had ducked out from under the staircase, but she vaguely recalled seeing the ninja clad person in the throng of people upstairs.

Eddie grabbed Marcia by the hair, yanking her from Richie and dragging her across the basement. Marcia, in her dizzy haze, attempted to kick out and pry the gloved fingers from her hair but it was no use. All it did was make him tighten his grip before he tossed her carelessly next to a radiator, reaching around her to grab something.

A click sounded and something cold and metallic closed around her wrists, keeping her arms held somewhat awkwardly up into the air. One glance up told her all she needed to know. He’d handcuffed her to the pipe on the wall and these weren’t some flimsy handcuffs. They were police issued.

Marcia was forced to watch as he crossed the room again to where Richie lay on the ground, a soft snort emerging from the mask before he nudged his foot roughly into his side. The figure on the ground stirred with a groan.

“Are you gonna just fucking lie there all night? You can sleep all day tomorrow.” Eddie chided.

“Will you take it easy?” Richie snapped, slowly sitting up and rubbing at the back of his head. “I didn’t know she was gonna kick me down the fucking stairs.”

Marcia felt her breath catch in her throat, the ability to breathe momentarily evading her. Her attackers were  _ Richie  _ and  _ Eddie _ of all people? She moved her arms relentlessly in an attempt to break the pipe or  _ something  _ that would allow her to get out of here.

“That’s because you don’t listen.” Eddie said flatly, holding a hand out to Richie. “You’re lucky you didn’t smash your head open. You should have listened to me. I said let me do that part but  _ no _ , you just had to try and prove some macho point that you could take out a girl.”

“Oh my god.” Richie groaned, teetering on his feet as a wave of dizziness took over him. “Just get the stuff and stop yelling at me. I’m gonna have a headache for a week after this.”

“Gee I wonder why.” Eddie rolled his eyes, crossing the room to a table where he grabbed a funnel and a small glass bottle. “Idiot.”

“This is domestic abuse. I want a divorce.”

“We’re not married dumbass.” Eddie quipped, tossing the small bottle up and down in his hand. “Is this gonna be enough?”

“L said it will be.” Richie assured, giving the back of his head another rub. “For the record I’m gonna marry you just to divorce you for his moment.”

“Don’t be such a big baby. I’ll kiss it better when we’re done. How about that?”

Eddie didn’t need to see Richie’s face to know he was grinning. “Deal!”

“One track mind.” Eddie sighed, approaching Marcia who had now curled her legs in on herself, prepared to kick out. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’ll just be prolonging the inevitable.”

Marcia took in a sharp breath, releasing it into a trembled exhale. “Why… are you doing this?”

Richie crouched at her side, reaching out and grabbing her chin to direct her attention towards him. “Bucky Beaver, Beaverly, Wheezy, Fatboy.” He recited the names in a flat tone, and when Marcia opened her mouth to speak, he wedged a gloved thumb inside, pressing down roughly on her tongue. “You started every nickname that made our life hell. You dumped a trash bag of water and trash onto Beverly. You toyed with Stan for two years and lead him on. You convinced your boyfriend to steal Eddie’s gym bag when he was in the shower, but don’t worry, Eddie will deal with him later. Funnel.”

Eddie wordlessly handed the metallic funnel to Richie who replaced the thumb in Marcia’s mouth with the tip. Marcia pressed her tongue against the nozzle; attempting to push the funnel back out.

“She’s not just gonna take it.” Eddie pointed out, rising to his feet and heading back to the table. 

He traded the gloves of his costume for a thick pair of rubber ones, returning to Richie’s side and wiggling two fingers into Marcia’s mouth, pushing her tongue town; wrapping the other hand around the funnel while Richie unscrewed the lid of the bottle. Marcia barely had chance to register the label on the bottle (corrosive), before Richie was pouring it down the funnel.

“Wake up.” A ordered, slapping a gloved hand roughly against Patrick’s cheek.

Patrick stirred with a groan, slowly opening his eyes. He was still in the bedroom Stan had locked him in, three masked people scattered about the room. L was crouched by the mattress, setting something up on a laptop. Once she was done, L rose to her feet, angling the laptop towards Patrick.

Patrick struggled in an attempt to move, only to find that they’d handcuffed him to a rail that was hanging in the closet. The most he could do was kick out it one of them came near him. L steadied something in her hand, and it took him a while to realise that she was holding some kind of camera that was live feeding something to the laptop behind her.

“He would have woken up on his own soon anyway. I didn’t inject much into him.” L said, cupping her hand around the base of the camera. “You didn’t need to  _ slap  _ him.”

A snorted, retrieving her bag of tools and laying it out on a desk near the closet. “I’m sure on some level he had it coming.” 

“Oh you just wait until I fucking get out of here.” Patrick growled, pulling on his restraints. “I’m gonna kill all of you and then your friends.”

“I don’t think you’re in much of a position to make any threats right now Patrick.” A said, taking a piece of metal from her pocket. “In fact, I don’t think you’re in much of a position to be  _ talking _ .”

L raised the camera to Patrick’s face as A wedged the piece of metal into his mouth. Patrick had attempted to fight her on it, but one quick knee between the legs had him distracted enough for her to get it into place. Patrick attempted to speak around the metal sheet, some kind of threat no doubt, but they couldn’t make out a single word of what he was saying.

“The only noises I want to hear from you are screams and begging.” A hissed, curling a hand onto his shoulder before delivering another swift knee to his crotch.

L let out a soft laugh as Patrick let out a scream, the corners of his mouth clamping onto the edges of the metal which sliced through his flesh. “Yikes, and you say  _ I  _ get carried away. This isn’t even our payment. He’s B’s victim. Let  _ him _ have some fun.”

“He’s not a redroom worker. He doesn’t know how to do this stuff.” A pointed out. “But I’m sure there’s at least  _ one  _ thing you’d want to do to him right?”

Bill could feel his heart slow. He knew exactly what A was referring to.

_ [19:00] AK: Tell me what happened to your brother. _

_ [19:05] AK: Nothing leaves the circle.  _

_ [19:07] AK: Secrets are safe here. _

_ [19:10] AK: And this is a secure chat. _

_ Bill stared at the flashing notification for the chat program that Richie had made him install on his phone. How did this person know about his brother? Just how much had Richie told his mysterious friends about them? He glanced up to make sure he was still with the others. Eddie shoved Richie for cracking some unsavoury joke and Richie stumbled into Beverly who let out a soft giggle. _

_ [19:20] BD: Murdered. Arm ripped off. Drowned. How do you know about him? _

_ [19:30] AK: There’s very little R hasn’t told me about you. All of you. Do you know who did it? _

_ [19:35] BD: No but I have an idea. _

_ [19:40] AK: Give me a name at the party and show me. They’ll be yours. _

“Yeah.” Bill said, staring at Patrick who now had a bloodied mouth. “There is.”

A nodded, reaching for a hatchet in her tool bag which she twirled in her grip; pointing the handle out at Bill. “You start it and we’ll finish it while you get ready for the next one.”

Bill carefully took the hatchet from A, gloved fingers wrapping tightly around the handle. A took a step back, returning to where Patrick was strung up and grabbed one of his arms. Patrick, as they had expected, put up a fight, attempting to twist away from her and kick out. It was impressive considering the amount of blood he’d lost that now stained his jaw, neck and shirt.

“You should really stay still.” A soothed, mockingly running a hand through his hair. “It’ll hurt less. One quick sweep rather than a few short hacks.”

Bill took a step forward raising the hatchet slightly. A pointed to an area on Patrick’s arm, keeping her finger there long enough for Bill to memorize the spot before moving her hand to his shoulder. A had moved fast, too fast for Bill to register what she was doing, a sickening crack echoing in the room followed by Patrick’s scream.

“Damn A, was that really necessary?” L asked, amusement laced in her voice as she steadied her camera.

“He wouldn’t stop moving his damn arm so I figured it was better to dislocate it.” A’s voice was level, as though she were talking about the weather rather than the fact she’d just dislocated someone’s arm from it’s socket. A tapped the area where Patrick’s arm and shoulder should have been connected; eliciting a hiss of pain from her victim. “Right here, B. He’ll still feel the pain and he’ll bleed out just nicely.”

Bill stared at the area for a moment before his eyes moved to A. “Will it kill him?”

A hummed thoughtfully. “Probably not, but he’ll be dead by the time L and I are done with him.”

Bill nodded, raising the hatchet as A pressed a hand firmly into the juncture where Patrick’s shoulder met his neck; her other hand still firmly on his arm. Bill brought the hatchet down in one swift motion, feeling a sort of sick pride at the scream that came from his victim as the hatchet connected with his skin. 

It hadn’t made it all the way through, stopping halfway into Patrick’s arm and drawing a laugh from A. “Guess I was wrong. It isn’t one quick sweep after all.  _ Oops. _ ”

A returned to her tool bag, rooting around for a moment before retrieving a small drill. Approaching Patrick again, she grabbed the metal sheet in his mouth and pried it free, lifting the drill to his head. 

“ _ Beg _ . Like you made  _ them  _ beg.”

Patrick opened his mouth, blood dribbling down his chin. “No.”

A reached out, curling her hands into his hair and yanking his head to one side. “I told you to  _ beg _ , asshole.” Patrick spat at A, a mixture of blood and saliva now staining her mask. “Oh, that’s how we’re gonna play this? I  _ love  _ it when they’re defiant. I work in the medical field you know,” A paused, moving the drill to Patrick’s eye, positioning the point in the corner by his nose at a slight angle. “I know exactly the place to hit you and turn you into a vegetable. I won’t tell you again;  _ beg him _ .”

Patrick kicked out, his foot connecting with A’s shin. A stumbled back with a grunt, straightening herself quickly and returning to her place right in front of him. “You don’t deserve it. Too merciful for you.” She positioned the drill in the center of his eye and pressed her finger down against the  _ on  _ button.

L took a step back as the blood and  _ god only knew what else  _ began to spray, wiping her thumb against the lense of her camera. The screams of pain were  _ too  _ satisfying to Bill, but it didn’t scare him.  _ He liked it. _

A pulled the drill back from Patrick’s face, wiping the end with her hand to remove all the gore from it. “He’s all yours B.”

Bill nodded, tightening his grip on the hatchet before raising it into the air again. This swing managed to go the rest of the way through, blood splaying from the wound. Bill didn’t notice the blood now covering his clothes or even hear the screaming that came from Patrick, his attention fixated on the arm that swung on the pole in the closet where the handcuff kept it in the air.

“Oh that’s kinda gross.” Eddie said, staring down at Marcia.

The smell of sizzled flesh hung in the air around them, and Marcia’s head was tilted back, exposing the gaping hole where her throat should have been. The only thing that was really holding her head on her body right now was her spine. There a strong metallic scent coming from her lifeless body from the blood that was staining her clothes.

Some of the acid had burned holes into her cheeks, and through those holes, her teeth were visible; somehow untouched by the corrosive liquid. L  _ had  _ said it was a somewhat low level. Enough to burn flesh and muscle but not her bones or teeth.

“Yeah, it kind of is.” Richie agreed from his spot a few feet away, lighting a match and dropping it into a metal bucket where Eddie’s rubber gloves were. “At least she finally shut up.”

From  _ his  _ vantage point, Richie could see bubbled flesh on her neck where the acid either hadn’t made its way through the flesh completely or had stopped its assault when it couldn’t keep going.

Eddie looked away from Marcia, whose wrists were broken from the force of her trying to break out of her restraints in an effort to free herself. “How are you feeling, by the way? I was a  _ little  _ worried when you fell down the stairs.”

Richie grinned, even though Eddie couldn’t see it, throwing his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders. “I feel just fine now Eds! Well… there’s a slight throbbing in my back but I did hit like seven or eight steps on the way down.”

Eddie let out a laugh, raising a hand to his mask to pull it down, the other moving to push Richie’s own mask up. He pushed himself onto the tips of his feet, pressing a light kiss to Richie’s mouth. “I’ll see if I can work some of that massage magic on it later. Think you can handle the rest of the night with it?”

Richie dipped his head down, winding his arms around Eddie as he pressed light kisses to his mouth, nose, and finally his forehead. “Knowing I’m gonna get pampered later? Hell yeah.”

A stared down at the barely moving form of Patrick who was now crumpled onto the bedroom floor. With the amount of blood he’d already lost, it was a miracle he was even alive. It was almost  _ admirable _ . A liked that in a person. The drive to fight until death was what she looked for in her workers.

“It’s a shame really.” A muttered, twirling a scalpel in her hand. “You could have gone far in my line of business.”

L placed her camera down onto the floor, pointing it at Patrick’s body as she retrieved a clamp and duffel bag she’d stashed into one corner. “He’s the kind of person who would have betrayed you eventually. Be careful now. I need those organs intact.”

A nodded, crouching next to Patrick and lifting his shirt. “I got it L, stop backseat surgeoning. Just get the jars.”

L unzipped her duffle, grabbing a liquid filled jar from inside and setting it down next to Patrick. “Just the liver and heart though. I don’t need the rest.”

Bill didn’t stick around to see the harvest, but the gargled screams that suddenly came to a halt before he was even halfway down the hallway told him all he needed to know.

Patrick had joined the list of successful murders.


End file.
